Blood Sisters
by LJlashlarue
Summary: :"I know something of a woman in a man's profession. Yes, by God, I do know about that." (Elizabeth I, Shakespeare in Love) Amelia's just been made head of Magical Law Enforcement. One of her assignments is to liaise with the Muggle MI6 over the Voldemort threat. Amelia Bones finds common ground with her Muggle counterpart. Each of them finds a friend. Chapter 1 of 2.
1. Chapter 1

Author: Lash_Larue

Prompt_:__"I know something of a woman in a man's profession. Yes, by God, I do know about that." (Elizabeth I, __Shakespeare in Love__) _Amelia's just been made head of Magical Law Enforcement. One of her assignments is to liaise with the Muggle MI6 over the Voldemort threat. She and "M" bond (no pun intended) over being the first women in their respective professions. Maybe they comiserate over having to deal with talented rogues like Bond and Moody.  
Title: "Blood Sisters"

Characters:Amelia Bones/Olivia Mansfield ("M")

Rating:PG13

Warnings: Character death, reference to extreme violence, angst. Some language.

Word Count:13,500 or so total

Summary: Amelia Bones finds common ground with her Muggle counterpart. Each of them finds a friend.

Author's Notes: The HP characters are portrayed as inspired by book canon. "M" is of course from movie canon. 007 is more book than movie, and more Daniel Craig than any of the others. Everyone is of course my own interpretation of them, and whatever canon departures there may be are mine.

"Blood Sisters" - Chapter One

Olivia Mansfield had instructed Moneypenny that she was not to be disturbed for any reason until further notice. She had also secured her doors and windows and activated the anti-surveillance device that Q had provided, and not even laser telemetry of her windows could pick up anything.

Of all of the instructions her predecessor had left her in private notes, the most emphatic of them all was the need for absolute secrecy when it came to the visitor she was about to receive.

Actually, she was still reeling from the fact of this person's existence, and had she not known the prior director of MI6 well, she would have thought it a joke or a sign of dementia. Of course, all of that had changed when the portrait on the wall had spoken to her requesting this appointment and giving all the appropriate code phrases precisely as delineated in the document stamped "Final Secret". The Queen was not cleared for Final Secret, and the PM had strictly "need to know" access.

It seemed that magic was real. Of course, the technology developed in her department would appear like magic to many, but still... M stared at the fire and reviewed her instructions. A person was supposed to emerge from the flames. Her counterpart in the magical world, in fact. A magician, or 'wizard', as her briefing had called these magic men. She hoped that they would not be the sort of man to dismiss her merely because she was a woman, but really, they had no choice in the matter. The job was hers, and she had earned it.

Part of her, a fairly large part, simply did not believe it. Her predecessor had never betrayed any sign of a sense of humour in life, but she would have been disposed to think of this as some farewell jape on his part but for the talking portrait. Moreover, this magical world had an official body analogous to her own. "Magic I 6"? She still was not convinced, and she knew full well that Q could make a talking portrait if he wanted to, but the jest seemed unlikely. In any case, the appointed time was at hand. The fire flared green, just as her briefing had told her it would, and she stood facing it whilst trying to quell the flutter in her stomach. She could not, however, completely suppress a little gasp when a person emerged from the flames.

"I am Amelia Bones, Head of Magical Law Enforcement for the Ministry of Magic. Thank you for receiving me on such short notice," said the tall woman before her.

"You're quite welcome. I am M, director of MI6. My briefing on the possibility of this meeting made it quite clear that it was to be given absolute priority. I do hope that you will forgive me for perhaps wondering for a bit whether or not my predecessor was barking mad."

"Hah! Quite forgiven, I rather expect that Sir Reginald's portrait's request came as a bit of a shock. Frankly, I did not expect to find a woman in this post."

"Nor did I expect one in yours," M said. "But I have to say that I find it encouraging. At least neither of us is likely to feel patronized."

"That can be a bit wearying, yes," Bones agreed as she polished her monocle before replacing it. "Floo travel is efficient, but I can never keep the blasted ash off my lens."

M found herself smiling at the woman in front of her, and she found herself approving of her as well. Amelia Bones stood upright and square, projecting strength and confidence. M also approved of the short, no-nonsense cut of her visitor's iron-grey hair, and the well-tailored suit that she was wearing. It looked like Saville Row, which was where M got her own business attire. M had wondered what her visitor would be wearing. She had also thought that whoever it was would somehow look different. Odd, even. Her assumptions had been inevitably coloured by the childhood tales of witches and wizards, and she had more than half imagined them wearing a pointy hat covered with stars and crescent moons, and flowing robes. Had she anticipated a woman in this position, she might well have predicted warts. But here was a fellow professional, and a very handsome woman. Someone she was sure that she could relate to even though she was a - witch?

For Amelia's part, she was both relieved and delighted. She had been prepared to endure condescension bordering on insult, and instead had been confronted by an obviously intelligent and competent woman in a position like her own. From her sensible shoes to her practical yet stylish haircut, this "M" person radiated confidence of a rare sort. Clearly, this Muggle woman had "seen the elephant", as the saying went.

"Do have a seat, Ms. Bones. Is that proper, or do you prefer another form of address?"

"The customary form of address is 'Madam Bones', but as we will be working closely together from time to time, I think 'Amelia' will serve admirably. We are, after all, both women in a man's job, as many would say."

"Ofttimes the best man for the job is a woman, don't you think? Would you like a drink? I have a splendid scotch," M said.

"Well said. You seem to be a woman after my own heart. Yes, a scotch would be just the ticket. My friend Minerva introduced me to it."

"Is she in your department, then?" M asked. Olivia was increasingly intrigued by her visitor.

"No, she's a professor. She teaches Transfiguration at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, as well as being head of one of the Houses."

Amelia took the opportunity to look around the office while M opened a sideboard and removed two squat crystal glasses and a bottle.

The office was much as she had expected, dark panelling, heavy leather chairs, a few bookshelves and paintings of naval battles. It had rather the air of a turn-of-the-century gentlemen's club.

M noticed her curiosity.

"I'm afraid that I've left things just as my predecessor the Admiral had them. Seemed a waste of funds to make it over when it's perfectly serviceable, and frankly it makes it a bit easier for me to deal with the alpha male types, as this office is a place they have grown accustomed to toeing the line in. Besides, the chairs are quite comfortable."

M poured the smoky liquor, set a glass on the table near Amelia's hand, and took a chair nearby.

"So, is it proper to call you a witch?"

"Indeed, and the men are called wizards. I understand that both words carry other connotations in your world," Amelia said with a smile as she raised her glass to her Muggle counterpart.

"The name 'witch' has been applied to me, yes. Usually when I've done something right."

"Yes, men often feel threatened by a woman in a position of power and seek to belittle them, at least in their own minds. You'd think that after a while people would stop being surprised and resentful when a woman proves to be competent at her job, but some of them never do," Amelia said.

"No, they don't," M agreed.

"Of course, they don't call me a 'witch' under those circumstances, but I have heard more than one muttered reference to me as 'hag' or 'harpy'. It's not worth bothering about so long as they do as instructed," Amelia said.

"I quite agree. Just so long as the mutter is indistinct enough to be plausibly passed off as some sort of gastric distress or something. One cannot tolerate insubordination, of course."

"By no means," Amelia agreed, and she took a sip of scotch. "Marvellous scotch, my compliments. But now I suppose we should get down to business. Have you ever heard of 'Lord Voldemort', usually referred to as 'You-Know-Who' or 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named'?"

"There was mention of the name in my brief on your world, yes. The information available to me indicated that he had been killed. Was that bad intelligence?" M asked.

"Wishful thinking, more like. He was certainly discommoded, likely disembodied for several years. Frankly, I am not really sure that he _can_ be killed now. He's scarcely human at all, truth to tell."

Amelia took a swallow of scotch, as did M.

"And how did he manage that?" M asked.

"We aren't sure, other than that it involved forbidden magic, the very darkest sort of magic. We are dealing here with evil of the foulest sort."

"A madman, then?"

"More of a monster, really. One of those megalomaniacal zealots who knows how to play to people's fears and prejudices. I believe you had one of those in your world not all that long ago."

"Indeed. They do keep popping up, it seems. There is always an audience for fear and hatred." M fell silent, her thoughts drawn to the long list of people in her department that had died working to stop just this sort of thing. Amelia seemed similarly occupied. They shared a wan smile and raised their glasses in a silent salute to the fallen.

"Mad, yes, from our point of view. But he is nonetheless an extremely powerful and gifted wizard. I am also bound to tell you that he regards Muggles, that is to say non-magical humans, as lesser beings fit only for use as sport or slaves. Should he triumph in the coming war, he will seek dominion over your world as well as ours."

"I see. How may we be of assistance, since it is clearly in our best interests to do so?" M asked.

"Keep an eye out for unusual occurrences, inexplicable deaths or disappearances, even strange weather patterns. We are, of course, trying to round up as many of his followers as we can, but even with magic we cannot be everywhere at once. I brought along a few dossiers on his more prominent henchmen. Have a look at these..."

M's eyebrows raised as she looked at the pictures.

"These pictures really are moving, aren't they, or have I gone mad?"

"As I've only just met you, I can't speak to your sanity, but the pictures do indeed move. Fortunately these do not talk; I much doubt that you'd care for what they would have to say." Amelia smiled ruefully.

"We have our share of evil madmen as well, and it falls to my department to deal with them. Tell me, what will you do with these people should you find them?"

"We have a secure prison, and severe punishments for the very worst offenders that ensure that they will not repeat their crimes. Frankly, with this lot it is unlikely that we will be able to take them alive, in any case."

"Then if we should run across one of these individuals while they are committing a crime, may I assume that you would have no particular objection if we removed them? Or are they bulletproof or something?"

Amelia stared. Clearly, this Muggle woman was willing to make the hard choices when public safety was involved. She found herself warming towards her. Perhaps, just perhaps, here was a kindred spirit.

"No, they're not bulletproof. They are, however, absolutely ruthless and won't hesitate to kill. Many of them really enjoy it," Amelia said after a moment. "And there are spells that might shield them even if they appear to be completely in the open."

"From what you've said, I doubt that they would consider any of us Muggles to be a threat, though. That might give us an edge."

"It might at that, but you won't get but one chance at it." Amelia sighed. "I suppose I need to inform you of the sort of things these people are apt to do..."

The morning stretched into the afternoon, and Amelia was very impressed by the calm with which M received the news of the Unforgivable Curses, as well as the more common sort of destructive spells. She took copious notes and asked pointed questions, to which she received plain answers.

"Merlin, look at the time! I apologize for taking such a large part of your day, M."

"Merlin was real?"

"Very."

"Imagine that... I don't begrudge the time, this is obviously critical intelligence, and I must compliment you; I have never received such a clear briefing, nor such direct answers to my questions," M told Amelia.

"We are both 'women in a man's job', we both know what it's like to be patted on the head and told to be a good girl, don't we? Well, there is nothing at all of good in what we've been talking of, and nothing to be gained by shilly-shallying about. Frankly, it was a relief to brief someone who listened and asked pertinent questions. I think you and I will get on rather well."

"So do I. As for pertinent questions, I shall doubtless have more in future. If I might detain you for a while longer I should start planning and would value your input," M requested.

"Certainly," Amelia answered, quite interested in what plans this intriguing woman might have.

M walked briskly over to her desk, sat, and touched a button on her desk. There came the sound of motors whirring and panels opening, and an enormous glass panel descended from the ceiling.

"You can see better from over here by me, Amelia, do drag a chair round for yourself if you like," M said.

Without thinking about it, Amelia levitated a chair over beside M's. M sharply arched one eyebrow but said nothing until Amelia had taken a seat.

"Handy, that. So that's magic, is it?" M asked.

"Of a basic sort, yes. I apologize if I startled you, M."

"More interesting than startling, and certainly nothing to compare with seeing you emerge from the fireplace. Now then, have you a list of attacks these people have carried out in 'my' world?"

"Yes." Amelia handed it over, wondering what on earth the clear glass panel had to do with things.

"No GPS coordinates," M muttered, "but the addresses will do."

M picked up a remote, pressed a button, and the panel came to life, displaying a glowing and highly detailed map of England.

"Remarkable," Amelia said. "I'm afraid our maps are on parchment, although some of them have a few useful features."

"I have this from one of _my_ wizards," M told her. "Now then, I'll just input these addresses..." Red dots appeared on the map, each with a number beside it, and once she had plotted them all she refined the scale of the map so that the points of interest occupied the bulk of the screen. A further click on the control traced a line from point to point. "It's usually best to begin with basic police work. What sort of incidents were these?"

"Mostly kidnappings, though there were several instances of torture and we found two people dead. One home was severely damaged," Amelia told her.

"Which incident was that?" M asked.

"Number four."

Amelia had a brief sensation of vertigo as the image on the screen flickered, swooped, and seemed to be rushing at her. A moment later and they were looking at a perfectly clear image of the damaged house, as seen from above.

"The initial display was a computer-generated map, this is real-time satellite imagery," M explained. "The large display in the operations room has better detail, but this will serve well enough. Oh, this is classified, by the way. The quality of these images is not general knowledge. It looks like the cat survived, at any rate."

Amelia stared at the large ginger cat picking its way through the rubble.

"Satellite imagery?"

"We have a network of satellites orbiting the earth. We can see virtually any spot on the planet, though we surely can't monitor every bit of the world constantly. I'll task one bird to this general area full-time now, though," M explained.

"This is astonishing, M. I had no idea things like this existed," Amelia admitted.

"I suppose magic is in the eye of the beholder, so to speak. It doesn't look exactly like an explosion. What caused this damage?" M asked.

"Blasting curses, fairly powerful ones. The effects are largely directional, which is why the debris is all towards the rear of the house. We found one body, and records indicate the man lived alone. The official verdict was a gas leak," Amelia explained. "We check for witnesses but try not to bother the scene more than necessary so as not to interfere with the local authority's own investigations."

M restored the map screen.

"The only thing that jumps out at me so far is that these are all fairly isolated dwellings, stand-alone homes on the outskirts of small towns. That indicates a certain amount of caution on their part, or do you know of a reason for these people to be singled out, Amelia?"

"Our assessment is that these are training exercises. Breaking in new recruits, as it were. The relative isolation is likely the determining factor for the enemy, I suppose," Amelia replied.

"Well, it's a thin start, but a start nonetheless. I'll review the imagery for these areas, but it will take time as I'll have to do it myself. How do I get in touch with you should the need arise?"

"Sir Reginald's portrait can get a message to me at any time. Would you do me the honour of serving as herald, Sir Reginald?"

"I should be delighted to do so, Madam Bones."

"I assume that the same will hold true for me, when I am in my office. That is indeed most of the time, but not always. I can give you my private mobile number," Olivia offered.

"Mobile number?"

"Mobile telephone," M elaborated, showing the device to Amelia.

"We don't have these, and usually Muggle technology does not work well in magical areas, something about magic sort of scrambles things."

"I see. Well, we can try, let me get you one." M pressed another button and a panel in the wall behind her desk opened up. "This is a secure satellite phone, it's hardened against electromagnetic pulse interference and might work in your environment. I'll show you how it works..."

Amelia proved a quick study, and they worked out a means for her to charge the phone at need should it in fact work.

"I've brought you one of our sort of communication devices," Amelia said, and she handed M a coin. "I'm afraid you'll need to keep it in an inside pocket, it grows warm when there is a message for you. It will only be a notice that I need to speak with you. Frankly, I hope your device works, it is more efficient. Now, as to future meetings, especially at odd hours should the need arise, do you have a fireplace in your home?"

"Several, in point of fact."

"May I have your address? I can establish a secure connection to the Floo service, if you permit it. No one other than me will be able to use it."

"Certainly. Best to use the one in my private sitting room, second floor rear, on the east side of the house. I seldom have guests, but I do have a small staff. They are splendid people, but I am not at all sure how they would react to a woman emerging from the fireplace."

"I'm sure you are correct, M."

"Olivia, please. I know you won't take the name as a sign of weakness, Amelia. I do find it advantageous to require the use of 'Director' or 'M' for work purposes."

"Be assured that 'Madam Bones' understands that perfectly well, Olivia. And I hope that you won't take offence when I advise extreme caution should your people come in contact with any of these individuals. It would be best for them to withdraw at once and have you inform me of their whereabouts."

"I tend to agree, but of course if they are actively engaged in criminal activity we might not be able to wait, particularly if there are innocent lives at stake."

"Should that transpire, I recommend that you do not try and capture them. I'm sure that your people are quite competent, but this is something outside of their experience and training. Your people are prepared to kill?"

"I have people for that, yes."

XXXXXX

Weeks turned into months, and as Voldemort's followers grew bolder Amelia called on Olivia more frequently, often late at night at her home. Amelia would emerge from the fire, they would exchange information, and then Amelia would disappear in green flames.

They were now more than at ease in each other's company, and indeed each had come to trust the other as they had rarely trusted anyone.

It had become a most effective collaboration. Perhaps more than that.

XXXXXX

"This incident is going to be difficult to keep under wraps, Amelia," Olivia said by way of greeting when Amelia emerged from the fireplace in the sitting room of Olivia's home one evening.

"We've taken care of that, thanks to your prompt call. Anyone who saw that damnable thing now recalls seeing a brief meteor shower. But the enemy is getting bold indeed to cast the Dark Mark in the open like that."

"May I ask how you accomplished that? That thing is not something that would fade easily from memory," Olivia asked.

"We have squads to modify the memories of those who have witnessed magical events. I will admit that this case pushed them to the limit, however. Had you not informed me so swiftly, we might well have wholesale panic to deal with," Amelia answered. "It's a good thing that your phone works most of the time. Damned handy, that."

"From the reports I've read I assume that the Killing Curse was used on these people?"

"Yes, but only after abuses of many kinds. This attack served no purpose other than to gratify blood lust and spread terror."

"Bastards," M muttered.

"Of the 'utter' sort. I am sorry, Olivia, I feel as if I have failed you."

"You'd have stopped it if you could, I know that. Madmen are difficult to deal with in part simply because they are mad. This sort of senseless violence just doesn't occur to most people, but I'm paid to think about it. I do think that I'm going to have to brief my most senior operative on the situation, though. I hope that you've no objections."

"It's not my place to object. You know what is at stake here, and I trust your judgment, Olivia. Is it permissible for me to know the identity of this operative?"

"Certainly. His name is Bond, James Bond, and he has been on Her Majesty's Secret Service for quite some time now. I have a dossier on him, for your eyes only." She handed over a folder, and Amelia studied it in silence for a time.

"Remarkable," Amelia said at length, "but..."

"He is a sexist, misogynist dinosaur who has a regrettable tendency to think with his penis. He never met a vagina he didn't covet, and damned few of those that caught his interest escaped unplundered," Olivia finished, drawing a snort from Amelia. "However, his loyalty is beyond question and his effectiveness can't be denied. He does have a regrettable fondness for underpowered weapons and a tendency to get himself into the nastiest imaginable situations. And yet, somehow, he always emerges from them alive, with his willie firmly ensconced in a woman of singular beauty. I can't say that I like him, but the bugger does get the job done. Also, I admit that I have never heard a word of complaint from the women in question."

"He is a handsome devil, I must say. Given his proclivities, how does he respond to your leadership?"

"About like you'd expect, but his loyalty to the Crown compels him to obey. Mostly. He does have a tendency to exceed instructions and get caught in a tight spot. But he never turns, even under the most appalling torture, and he always gets the job done in the end. He drives me to distraction, but I cannot help but trust him."

"I have one a bit like that, bar the womanizing. Alastor Moody. People think he's crazy, seeing evil in every shadow. 'Mad-Eye Moody', they call him. He lost an eye on the job, along with a leg and various other bits; but he too gets it done, and he never kills without cause, no matter how rotten the bastard he encounters. Takes terrible risks, but he is a thoroughly honourable man. I much doubt that he will survive the current crisis." Amelia fell silent.

"They have to go out, they do not have to come back. Yes, I know the feeling. Even Bond, whom I personally don't like, even him, should he die, I'd miss him. And I would mourn him. Along with countless chippies, no doubt."

Amelia snorted, breaking the melancholy.

"Well put. Merlin, I wish that just once we could simply be two women who enjoy one another's company without all this horror and death. You're the only person I have ever known who truly appreciates what it is to be in a position like mine, like yours. It's hard sometimes, but..."

"We do it because we can, because it's needful. But we have to recognize that we are only human after all. It will do no one any good if we run ourselves into the ground, and so I have a proposal, if you care to listen," Olivia said.

"I am open to suggestions."

"My people can reach me at need, and I assume that the same is true for you, correct?"

"With maddening ease, yes."

"Then stay the night. I have a lovely guest room, and a marvellous chef. It might well save you the bother of a return trip if something else happens. What do you say?"

Amelia's initial reaction was to beg off, as she had always made a point of keeping a certain distance in her professional relationships. But now that the initial business had been completed she took a moment to look around the room and was a bit surprised to find that it was as contemporary as M's office was traditional. It was open and airy, the furniture was chrome and black leather and the walls a stark white, standing in strong contrast to the art that graced them. The paintings were bright slashes of color, and although Amelia's taste ran more to realism than abstract she found many of them very compelling. It was not at all what she had imagined.

This, she realized, was Olivia's own space, arranged just as she wished it to be. This was her, Olivia, not "M". Besides, Olivia was right, it might well save another trip.

"I would be delighted," she said.

No one in MI6 would have recognized the smile on M's face.

"Name your fancy. Babette can cook anything," Olivia said.

"She's French?"

"Very, but don't let that constrain you."

"Beef Wellington?" Amelia asked hesitantly.

"Like you've never tasted," Olivia promised.

"I've brought along a file on Moody for you, Olivia. Shall we polish off the business before dinner?"

"Yes, I'll just have a word with Babette and be right back. Do make yourself at home. The loo is just there, should you need it, and please help yourself to the bar."

Olivia strode from the room and Amelia took the opportunity to have a closer look at the paintings. She found to her surprise that her eyes grew full as she looked at one of them. There was no image that she recognized, but it had such power that she could not look away.

Then she noticed the discreet "O" on the bottom right corner of the canvas.

Amelia went and rinsed her face and was pouring the scotch when Olivia returned.

"Thank you, Amelia," Olivia said as she accepted the offered drink. "Now then, Moody, is it?"

"Yes. I thought that you should know what he looks like, and you might as well fill in your man Bond as well. It is entirely possible that they will run into one another at some point." She handed a folder to Olivia.

"What on earth happened to the man?" Olivia asked when she saw the picture.

"Lots of things. He's technically retired, but I've prevailed upon him to render assistance. It is difficult to know whom to trust in these times, and I trust him. I'll spare you all the political intrigue, it's maddening, and I'm sure that you have your full share of it from your side," Amelia told her.

"Quite enough, thank you. I'll fill in 007 on him, and you might as well let Moody know about Bond, I think," M said.

"007?"

"Ah, the double zero is a service designation for the Special Section. It's a very small, elite group of operatives. The double zero prefix indicates that they are authorized to use lethal force if they feel that it is indicated, even when it is not a matter of self-defence. They do of course have to justify such an action, but sometimes there just isn't time to clear things with me or the PM. We have other sections to administer less drastic solutions," Olivia explained.

"We call them Hit Wizards. Bit melodramatic, I suppose. In any case, I'll make sure Moody knows that Bond is on our side, and of course keep you up to date on anything we might find out regarding the Death Eaters."

"Death Eaters?" Olivia asked.

"You-Know-Who's most dedicated followers. They do the bulk of the dirty work. That thing that was in the sky is their symbol. It's burned into their forearms."

"Charming," Olivia muttered. "Can I get you a refill?"

"Will there be wine with dinner?"

"Certainly," Olivia said.

"Then no, thank you, one was enough to knock the rough edges off the day. These paintings are remarkable, are they your work?"

"Yes. Painting is my selfish pleasure, it helps me to work through certain - feelings," Olivia told her.

"The one over the bar brought tears to my eyes. Frankly, I have never experienced that from an abstract painting before," Amelia said.

"There is a lot of feeling in that one, yes. I am gratified that you can see it."

Amelia longed to ask her more about it, but thought it best not to.

A discreet knock on the door heralded the beginning of their dinner.

XXXXXX

"Never. Never, ever, have I had a Wellington to compare with that, Olivia," Amelia said in deep content.

"Don't tell me, I didn't cook it. Babette, if you please?" she called out.

"Oui, madame?"

"Our guest has something to say to you." Babette turned to their guest and waited.

"About tonight's main course," Amelia began.

"Oui, madame," Babette answered, her brow furrowing in concern.

"That was the finest Wellington I have ever tasted, and I have had this dish in the best restaurants on the continent. I should like to shake your hand."

Babette flushed in pleasure, and extended a very elegant hand, which Amelia took gently so as not to damage it. A chef's hands are a treasure.

"My compliments, Babette, it is always a joy to witness a master's work. All the more so when one may eat it. Please to call me if you ever decide to leave your present employment."

Babette curtseyed and returned to her kitchen.

"Some friend you are. Trying to steal my chef."

"You can scarcely blame me. Are all of her dishes this good?"

"Every single one," Olivia promised.

XXXXXX

Amelia slept very well, and blessedly was not called in to work, so she was quite cheerful the next morning. Finding that Olivia's staff had cleaned and pressed her clothes only added to the feelings of well being.

As did breakfast.

"Olivia, I cannot thank you enough for your hospitality. I haven't slept so well in months, and I've _never_ had food like this. I do hope that you will allow me to return the invitation. The food won't measure up, I'm afraid, but you would be most welcome at my home."

"I'd love to, Amelia, and I'm so pleased that you slept well. Sleep is priceless in our line of work, isn't it? And often hard to come by. We'll arrange a mutually agreeable time. How do I get to your home?"

"I'll fetch you, either here or at your office, whichever is most convenient. You simply can't get there on your own, I'm afraid. The magical protections won't allow it," Amelia explained.

"Splendid. Thank you for the information on Moody, I'll be sure and let Bond know about him. It's good to have a contact with your people.

XXXXXX

James Bond was not quite so thrilled with the whole thing.

"You can't possibly expect me to believe this, M."

"Not the sort of thing you expected to hear from 'The Evil Queen of Numbers', 007?" Bond did have the grace to look slightly abashed at that, but only slightly. "Tell me, would you find it easier to accept if it came from the Admiral?"

"Perhaps," Bond admitted after a moment's thought. M tossed him a folder, and had the satisfaction of seeing the shocked look the "Final Secret" stamp brought to his face. Wordlessly, he thumbed through the pages.

"Convinced?"

"I have to admit that it would explain some things that have puzzled me through the years, not that the unexplainable is much of an explanation. Why bring me in on this?" he asked.

"Because if something were to happen to me, we would be at a serious disadvantage until such time as my successor was chosen and able to get up to speed. I even admit that I had my own doubts until I met my counterpart in the magical world. But it's real, and the threat is growing. You will of course speak of this to no one, regardless of their rank or position."

"No problem there, I shouldn't like to appear barking mad."

"Study the photographs until you have those faces committed to memory, I'll have some conventional versions made up for use on the watch list. These people are not to be approached. Rather, I want to be notified at once if they are sighted."

"Yes ma'am," Bond replied. "And if they are posing an immediate threat to the citizenry?"

"That's what the double zero is for, Commander Bond."

Even M felt a bit of a chill at the cold smile on his face.

"This is your counterpart on the magical side of things. His name is Alastor Moody, and you can trust him as much as you can trust anyone in this business," M told him.

"What the hell happened to him?" Bond asked.

"Lots of things, reportedly. It is possible that you shall encounter him in the course of things, please refrain from killing him."

"I'll do my best. So this is real, all of it?" he could not resist asking.

"Very," she confirmed.

"Well, it's quite a piece of piss, isn't it?"

XXXXXX

Amelia had Flooed to Olivia's office to apprise her of the latest developments concerning Death Eater activities. She watched Olivia update the map, fascinated as always by the technology.

Business concluded, Amelia stood by the fire to bid Olivia a brief farewell.

"I must say that I am looking forward to dinner with you, Amelia. I could do with a bit of country air. Things are as well arranged as we can get them, and I should be home in 30 minutes. I have to be seen to leave. Feel free to go ahead, I'll meet you there and then subject myself to this Apparition you speak of."

"I'll save you some scotch," Amelia promised, and she Flooed to M's home.

"I don't think I'll ever get used to that," M said, and she left her office, saying goodnight to Moneypenny and taking the lift to the garage.

She arrived home within the specified time to find Amelia staring at the painting over the bar.

"Truly, Olivia, this is remarkable," Amelia said in greeting.

"It's my favorite piece," Olivia responded. "I'll tell you about it sometime. Should I have a drink before we go?"

"It might be best not to."

Amelia took her by the arm and Olivia felt the world spin away.

"Christ! It's like being born, or squeezed through a garden hose," Olivia said.

"It's a bit disconcerting at first, yes. Come along, I have just the thing to settle your stomach."

Amelia's home stood in stark contrast to Olivia's. It was an English country cottage with an English country garden out back. There were paintings of fantastic (to Olivia) creatures on the walls, and the place had the feel of a comfortable and much-loved pair of boots.

"Rustic, next to your place, I know," Amelia said.

"It's utterly charming, Amelia. It reminds me of my childhood home, in fact. Although we didn't have portraits of - that _is_ a mermaid, is it not?"

"Indeed. Daphne, say hello to my friend Olivia."

"Hello, Olivia, I'm pleased to meet you," the mermaid said, waving in a friendly fashion.

"If the stomach settling involves alcohol, I'm ready for it, Amelia."

Olivia was looking at the painting so hard that Daphne blushed a bit, and flicked her tail coquettishly.

"Don't mind Daphne, she's a terrible flirt. Come this way," Amelia said, and Olivia followed her. She did look back over her shoulder in time to see Daphne blow her a kiss, though.

Flirt, indeed, but she was truly beautiful.

Amelia had a proper pub in her home.

"Astonishing," Olivia said, and Amelia shrugged.

"I love a good pub, which should give you fair warning about dinner. This room is my great indulgence, and it comes in handy on the rare occasions that I have guests. I used to go to the local with my father, rest his soul. There is just something about a pub that feels like home to me, but my presence tends to mute the merriment at many of the more rustic ones that I prefer," Amelia explained. She moved behind the bar and set two glasses on the dark and scarred oak, and then produced a dusty bottle and poured.

"It's smoking, Amelia," Olivia pointed out.

"That's why it's called Firewhisky. Have no fear, it won't burn in other than the good way, Olivia. This is Ogden's best."

Olivia took a cautious sip, sighed down to her toes, and tossed off the remainder before sliding her glass across the bar.

"Give us another, barmaid!"

Amelia obliged.

"Would you like to see the garden?" Amelia asked.

"Certainly. Lead the way."

Olivia followed Amelia down a hallway and through a door. She stepped outside and stopped in her tracks.

"Christ, Amelia..." she breathed.

The garden was a wonder, pristine and shining with life. It was meticulously arranged without being fussy, and it was in the shape of a "V".

At the apex of the "V" was a bed of flowers that Olivia had rarely seen, and she found herself drawn to it.

"Aren't these..." Olivia began.

"Anthurium, yes. I have to use magic to grow them here, of course. I suppose this garden is to me what painting is to you, but this particular plot is special to me," Amelia explained.

"It's a memorial, isn't it?" Olivia asked.

"Yes. One flower for each member of my service who has died since I joined. Not all of them on my watch, but they were all my brothers and sisters," Amelia answered.

Olivia made no reply, but set her glass on the ground and embraced her friend. This was something she understood perfectly. This was something she honoured. After a time she broke the embrace and retrieved her glass. She stood facing the anthurium and raised the glass high.

"Thank you," she said.

The sun was setting when they returned to the house.

"It's only shepherd's pie, I'm afraid," Amelia said.

"I was raised on the stuff. Nothing at all wrong with an honest shepherd's pie. I'll have Babette do her version next time you're over," Olivia promised.

"No doubt she makes hers out of Angel's kisses, or some such thing," Amelia replied.

"I've never asked, but I suppose it's possible."

Amelia's shepherd's pie was much more than adequate.

"There is no dish in all of Britain half so comforting as a good shepherd's pie, Amelia. I am quite in your debt."

"I'm nowhere near Babette's class, and I know it. But I will allow that my shepherd's pie is edible. Thank you for coming, Olivia. Somehow, in your company, I feel that we might actually win this thing."

"And so we shall," Olivia declared.

Amelia's home office was floor to ceiling books and scrolls, and Olivia found it fascinating even though she did not understand much of it.

"I know so little of your world, Amelia."

"Unfortunately, most of what you know is the bad. Would you be interested in seeing some of the good?" Amelia asked.

"I would absolutely love to. Is that permissible, though?"

"Your position and our current situation provides an exemption from the Statute of Secrecy. If our respective offices leave us in peace, I'll take you on a tour tomorrow," Amelia promised her.

"Splendid, I look forward to it!"

"It will involve more Apparition..."

"Bugger. Another Firewhisky if you please, barmaid."

Olivia headed to the bar, trailed by her hostess, who was stifling a laugh. Clearly, Olivia did not enjoy Apparition in the least.

As Amelia had felt about M in her home, Olivia felt that here in this room she was meeting Amelia the person, the woman, rather than the Head of Magical Law Enforcement. Amelia smiled more frequently here, laughed more easily, and in her congenial company Olivia felt much of the accumulated tension from her work draining away.

Their eyes met, and they knew without speaking it aloud that they had each found someone who really understood what it was to be a woman in the positions they held. The constant scrutiny, the almost eager anticipation of a mistake by some, and the amused condescension of others. They understood that they had to be better to even be seen as good, that they were widely regarded as lucky when they were right and "typical women" if they were even a tiny bit wrong. They understood what it was to have to fight for the respect that the titles they held would have afforded a man upon introduction.

They had each found a real friend.


	2. Chapter 2

Part two of "Blood Sisters"

"We'll go right after breakfast, Olivia," Amelia informed her as she poured the tea. "I'm afraid that it is merely scones with strawberries and Devonshire Cream with a bit of bacon for breakfast, but we will have ample opportunity to supplement that later on. I realize this is not a typical country breakfast, but the strawberries were particularly fine, and I do scones passably well. I hope that you aren't too disappointed."

"Never," Olivia said sternly, "use the term 'merely', in connection with scones with strawberries, Devonshire Cream, and bacon in my presence again, nor apologize for offering it at any time whatsoever, or I shall set 007 on you. Now give it over and get out of the way."

Amelia smiled in pleasure at the obvious relish with which Olivia ate her breakfast. In truth, the menu was Amelia's personal favourite, and she was gratified to see that her friend enjoyed it as well.

"Another scone, Olivia?"

"I can't. I want to, desperately, but I simply cannot. I must have that recipe for Babette. I have never had a scone to match these."

"It's an old family secret," Amelia demurred.

"I'm a spy master. You can't possibly hide it from me, so you might as well give in with good grace."

"Very well. One must choose one's battles wisely. I'll make you a copy, but do keep it to Babette," Amelia requested.

"On my word. The rest of the world simply does not deserve it. I'll just freshen up a bit and then I'll be ready to face the terrors of Apparition on a blissful stomach," Olivia said.

"I'm afraid there will be a bit more to it than that, Olivia. Where we are going Saville Row will stand out like a clown suit at Winchester Cathedral. We'll find you something suitable from my wardrobe."

"It won't have stars and moons on it, will it? Please tell me there will be no stars and moons," Olivia pleaded.

It was merely Hufflepuff black and gold.

"Are you ready?"

"No. But carry on."

They appeared beside a nondescript brick wall.

"Bloody hell! I shall be most cross if that lovely breakfast winds up on the paving, and forgive me, Amelia," Olivia said, looking at the wall, "but this is something less than fascinating."

"Patience, Olivia."

Amelia produced her wand and tapped a brick. The brick quivered - it wriggled - in the middle, a small hole appeared - it grew wider and wider - a second later they were facing an archway onto a cobbled street that twisted and turned out of sight.

"Welcome", said Amelia, "to Diagon Alley."

They stepped through the archway and into a world that met most of Olivia's expectations of what witches and wizards would be. Pointy hats, brooms, cauldrons, a shop that sold actual magic wands, and an apothecary that sold...

"Dragon liver, Amelia? _Dragons_ are real too?"

"Indeed, as are merpeople, centaurs, hippogriffs, elves, fairies, werewolves, vampires, and all sorts of other living beings that you thought were myths. Oh, and giants, mustn't forget the giants. Many of them are not quite what you might expect, though. Centaurs look much like the pictures you've likely seen, as do giants, but - well, we shall just have to drop by the bookshop and show you," Amelia said.

"Is she an elf? That blonde woman coming this way, I mean," Olivia asked. "She's stunning."

"No, she's a Veela. Elves are tiny things with enormous eyes and ears. I suppose your image of elves came from books?"

"Yes, and I can see that all this is going to take more than one day to absorb, Amelia," Olivia said as she took in the strange sights around her.

"Likely, yes. We can take a quick turn 'round the Alley and then return to any place you like, does that suit?" Amelia asked.

"A fine idea, although I could do with a bit of refreshment before we start."

"Well then, I know just the place, and as the students are in school it shouldn't be too crowded. Really, just before the start of term there isn't room to swing a Kneazle here," Amelia said.

"Kneazle?"

"Oh, the things you will see! But first, ice cream."

Amelia was thrilled at Olivia's reaction thus far, the open wonder she displayed showed how comfortable she was with her. Amelia looked forward to sharing her world with her friend, and it would let her see things with new eyes as well.

"I haven't been in an ice-cream parlour in ages," Olivia said as they sat at one of the tables in Florean Fortescue's. "What a lovely place. Do they have many flavours here? I don't see a menu."

"There is no menu," Amelia told her.

"I suppose the server tells us what flavours are available, then?"

"Olivia, _every_ flavour is available. Magic, remember? Just let your imagination run wild, why don't you?"

Amelia stuck with her favourite, spiced pumpkin with raisins soaked in rum, while Olivia fulfilled a childhood dream with mulberry - Supercrema ripple.

"How marvellous! I almost feel like a girl again," Olivia said after her first taste.

"Well, let us be two girls on an outing, then. Properly decorous girls, of course, but there's no reason we can't have a bit of fun so long as our jobs leave us alone, is there?"

"None that I can see, Amelia."

Olivia was fascinated by the books in Flourish and Blotts; by the fantastic creatures she saw in their pages, and they spent quite some time in there. She stopped by a display marked "remainders" and looked at the piles of books, all with the same man on the cover.

"This chap doesn't seem to be selling very well," Olivia said.

"He used to top the best-seller lists, but it developed that he was rather lying about having actually done the things in the books. That is, the bits that weren't made up out of whole cloth. He set himself up as a sort of adventurer or wandering hero who roamed the world fighting the forces of darkness. The man did know his memory charms, though," Amelia explained.

"I see. Well, he looks like a bit of a ponce, anyway. Fine dental work, though. Where to next?"

"Let's see about getting you a proper set of robes, shall we? If you're going to be touring the magical world you should have suitable clothes. You are of course welcome to anything of mine, but the fit isn't all that it could be."

"A splendid idea, but do they take my sort of money here?" Olivia asked.

"We can change some at Gringotts bank..."

"Goblins, actual goblins," Olivia said as they emerged from Gringotts. "I have to say they did look a bit like I had imagined. Not a terribly friendly lot, though, are they, Amelia?"

"Relations are a bit strained between us, yes. They have small love for wizardkind, and not without reason, I admit."

"Magic or Muggle, people will always find an axe to grind. Let's go shopping, we can sort out the world when we're back on the clock."

The presence of Amelia Bones ensured prompt and courteous service, and before very long Olivia had a lovely set of robes in a very deep blue.

"Thank you, Madam Malkin, these are simply beautiful, and the fit is perfect. I've never worn anything quite so comfortable," Olivia said.

"That's always good to hear. Thank you for your custom, and do tell your friends, please," she replied.

"Not bloody likely," Olivia said softly to Amelia once they were back on the street.

"Best not to, yes," Amelia agreed.

Amelia also thought it best to avoid the apothecary, but they briefly toured most of the others. Olivia was fascinated by the owl post office, but her favourite place was Flourish and Blotts, followed closely by Fortescue's.

"What's down that way?" Olivia asked as they passed a narrow side street.

"Knockturn Alley, not a place for us. The shops and people there are on the dark side of magic. We raid it occasionally, and I'm not very popular there, I'm afraid."

"I see. Well, in any event, it's getting late. Is there someplace we can have dinner here?"

"There's the Leaky Cauldron, and it's not a bad pub. I don't suppose Tom will mind it too much if my presence drives away a few of his dodgier customers," Amelia answered.

Tom politely conducted them to a table in a dark corner, and left to get their drinks.

"He's tucked us away nicely," Olivia said with a smile.

"He's a businessman, after all. What do you fancy for dinner?"

"Is this like the ice-cream parlour?" Olivia asked.

"No, but they do have the usual sort of pub food," Amelia told her.

"Might as well do it up right and have fish and chips, then. Oh. They iwill/i be normal fish, won't they? I shouldn't like to have the thing start talking or something, Amelia."

"No, they're quite normal fish," Amelia promised.

"Two fish and chips, please, Tom," Amelia said when their drinks arrived.

"Very good, Madam Bones."

Olivia looked around the room, now her eyes had adjusted to the dim light. It did indeed look much like any other pub, barring the clientele's dress. Then her eyes lit on a figure at the end of the bar.

"There, at the end of the bar nearest the front. Now that's what I thought a witch would look like," Olivia said.

"What on earth did your mother read to you when you were a child, Olivia? That's a hag."

"The usual sort of bedtime tales, witches fattening children up to make pies out of them, poisoning apples and such," Olivia told her.

"Oh, well that's true enough," Amelia said.

_"Really?"_ Olivia asked.

"No, goose, not really. Well, not commonly, any road."

"This has been a day of surprises," Olivia said, shaking her head.

Tom arrived with their food, and while not the match of Amelia's shepherd's pie, much less Babette's food, it was nonetheless quite edible. Hot, crisp, and just greasy enough to be authentic.

All-in-all, a most interesting and enjoyable day, and Olivia was still smiling when she hung her new robes in the wardrobe. They were not actually so very different from her Oxford ones, were they?

XXXXXX

As the weeks passed, Amelia and Olivia saw each other frewquently. They dined together whenever they could, and seized any opportunity for an overnight visit. Midweek meals were usually taken at Olivia's. They enjoyed dining out, but, as they had not found a chef to match Babette, they usually opted for the superior cuisine. Olivia was a bit amused at the growing attraction between Amelia and Babette. Both of them thought they were being very subtle, but insofar as Olivia was concerned they might as well have been skywriting. Babette could make "Madame Bones" sound like a proposition. Olivia did remain absolutely mute on the subject, however.

Overnight stays were most often at Amelia's place, it felt more private and cozy, and there was the little pub...

"Same again, barmaid," Olivia said with a satisfied sigh.

"You seem to have taken quite a liking to Ogden's, Olivia."

"Splendid stuff. I still like my Talisker, but knowing that 007 can't get this adds to the savour."

"And you call _me_ a witch. Some nerve you have, Olivia Mansfield."

Olivia shrugged.

"What would we do without the small pleasures? God, I love this place, Amelia. For a time I can forget the ugliness and gain strength to fight yet another day."

"I'm very glad, my friend. I've always loved this place, but never so much as when you are here. I can say whatever comes to mind without fear of being labeled or misunderstood. Having your friendship and help has made a world of difference to me. I no longer feel alone in the battle," Amelia said softly.

"I feel the same," Olivia echoed.

Amelia slid Olivia's glass to her, filled her own, and for a time both women watched the smoke curl from the liquor and simply basked in each other's company.

"You were going to tell me about that painting, Olivia," Amelia said.

Olivia had no need to ask what painting that Amelia was referring to.

"That painting was done after my first and perhaps greatest failure. A kidnapping. Normally that's not in our bailiwick, but this was the 10 year old daughter of a member of Parliament."

Olivia took a large swallow of Firewhisky.

"You recall that the painting is predominately reds and browns, do you not?"

"Yes," Amelia told her.

"Well, I made a bad call, and the girl was killed. 009 took care of him, but it was too late for the child." Olivia's eyes were focused on something far away. "The painting is how I saw the wall of that room after he had smeared that child's blood all over it."

Amelia circled the bar and embraced her friend, knowing that there were no words for this.

XXXXXX

"Do I look all right?" Amelia asked nervously.

"Perfect. Have no fear, Q and his staff will believe your cover completely. Not that it matters. If I take you on a tour, they'll bloody well show you what I tell them to. But do try to save your questions for me, when we have some privacy. Some of what you see will no doubt seem as strange to you as Honeydukes did to me. Blood Pops, honestly, and that damned frog scared the shit out of me."

"I'll behave, never fear," Amelia promised.

The lift stopped, and Amelia followed M into the laboratory...

"Merlin, Olivia! Now more than ever I am convinced that the Statute of Secrecy must be adhered to. I had absolutely no idea how very many ways Muggles had of killing one another. In mass numbers as well."

"The history of mankind is a violent one, Amelia. You know this as well as I do."

"A valid point, Olivia. In the end I suppose there is no real difference in a fatal curse and an - inflammable circle?"

"Incendiary round. Q branch has developed a variant specifically tailored for our use. Understand that even for us, killing is a last resort, but there is simply no such thing as killing someone a little bit, is there?"

"I suppose not. Some aspects of our work I just don't much care for, Olivia."

"No more do I. But when the choice is between innocent life and a monster bent on destruction, well, it's simply not a choice at all, is it then?"

"Quite. My place tomorrow night, is it?"

"Even if I have to kill someone," Olivia replied with a bitter smile.

XXXXXX

"Come and have a look at the incident map, 007," M told him.

The plot came up quickly.

"There's a pattern there," Bond said.

"There is always a pattern, 007. The difficulty lies in discerning it," M sighed.

"You're the artist, M. What does it look like to you?"

M filed away the information that Bond had apparently been in her sitting room, and decided to take his advice. She employed a technique that she often used in her art. She stared fixedly at the tracings on the screen for a moment and then closed her eyes, calling on her imagination to extend the image where it seemed to want to go.

Her eyes snapped open, and with the remote she changed two symbols from dots to "X's".

"It's a bloody skull," Bond announced.

"Indeed it is. Prepare yourself for a bit of rough living, 007. You're going camping."

XXXXXX

"This may be a real break for us, Olivia," Amelia said as she stared at the map in M's office.

"It's sheer speculation at this point, particularly as to the time of the next attack."

"Our information is that it won't be for about three days. There seems to be a sort of cycle to these training exercises, or initiations, or whatever the devil they are. We do occasionally get information from within the enemy camp. Of course it's suspect, and we can't rely on it completely, so we cannot commit all of our resources to this. But it looks promising, and there is a house at the next logical spot in the pattern that fits the profile," Amelia said.

"Commander Bond is in place and prepared to wait. The fresh air will do him good. All of the attacks have occurred around sunset, yes?" M asked.

"Quite right, and there has always been a week to ten days between. Of course, they may decide to escalate things a bit," Amelia admitted.

"I just wish we could evacuate that family, but we can't chance tipping our hand. I hate this, we're supposed to protect these people," M said.

"Quite. But your man seems quite competent, and my people are prepared to respond swiftly. We simply cannot be sure that they will attack here and not one of the other places that fit the pattern you found," Amelia said.

"You mean the pattern that I imagined. Still, the satellite is online and we should at the least be able to respond quickly if they strike elsewhere." M stretched and rubbed her neck.

XXXXXX

"Hello, you little shit," James Bond said to the figure that had just appeared in front of the house he was watching through powerful binoculars.

This man was in his briefing papers. Richard Wexford, a particularly nasty piece of work, by all accounts. He was shortly joined by two others that were not on his list, but Bond was not inclined to wait and see what they had in mind. His orders regarding this particular individual were quite clear.

007 made a call and then snugged the rifle to his shoulder.

"Wait for my signal," Wexford commanded, "and don't be in a hurry to finish them off. The true art is in drawing it out. Killing is easy, but true suffering and torment, that's an art. Remember, this is for the glory of the Dark L-"

A meaty sort of "thwock" sound interrupted his speech. He had an instant to marvel at the blood fountaining from his chest before he burst into flame. His companions were still staring at him when the Aurors and Obliviators arrived.

On a hilltop 1372.5 metres away, James Bond grunted in satisfaction and packed up his gear. He made another call and then mounted his motorbike and headed towards the flames.

"Alastor Moody, I presume," Bond greeted the battered old Auror.

"In the flesh, or what's left of it. You'd be Bond, I suppose," Moody replied.

"James Bond, yes. Anything I need to know?"

We're finishing up here, the family is safe and we captured two of the Death Eaters. What in hell did you do to this bloke? He was burning like a torch when we arrived," Moody asked.

"Shot him with an incendiary round. My briefing said that he was particularly dangerous, so I saw no need to take half-measures."

"Where on earth were you?"

"That hilltop south of here," Bond replied, pointing.

Moody stared at the distant hill, and then turned back to Bond.

"I should like to buy you a drink, laddie," Moody said with what Bond supposed must be a smile.

Bond was a bit surprised that Moody excited no notice when they entered the local pub, but he supposed that as a professional and a wizard that Moody had some way of distorting his appearance.

Moody gave him a sharp glance.

"I'm under a glamour," he informed Bond, "I've excluded you from it, but I'm a bit too memorable under normal circumstances. The opposition will have no idea what the hell went wrong here, and that's just how I like it. Name your poison, laddie."

"Vodka martini, straight up, with a twist, shaken, not stirred, and make the vermouth a wish," Bond told the barmaid.

"Same here, with a large whisky on the side, but feel free to stir mine if you like," Moody ordered. "So, it never occurred to you to give him a warning, did it?"

"Not for an instant," Bond confirmed.

"You'll do, laddie. You'll do," Moody declared. "Sometimes you just have to take out the rubbish, so to speak."

"What's with the 'laddie', Moody? I'm hardly young," Bond asked. He found the appellation a bit condescending.

"Youth is relative. I'm seventy-eight."

It was Bond's turn to stare.

"'Laddie' it is, then. That's a long time in this business. Small wonder you've picked up a few dings," Bond said.

"Ha! Delicately put."

The drinks arrived and the two warriors saluted each other.

"I understand that your boss is a woman as well, Moody. Tell me, how does that sit with you?"

"Son, it doesn't matter whether the boss pisses standing up or sitting down. What matters is the job. My chief is the best I've ever served under, and she has an uncommonly high opinion of your boss. She had you in the right place at the right time, didn't she? Has she ever let you down when it mattered?" Moody asked him.

"I'd have to say no, certainly not unless the job demanded it," Bond admitted.

"Then forget about what is or isn't between her legs and pay attention to _her_. It's what's between the ears and behind the breastplate that counts in this business. Another round here, barmaid, if you please! Now then, laddie, fill me in on how exactly it's possible to kill so precisely from that distance, if you would..."

XXXXXX

"Please give Commander Bond a 'well done' from me, Olivia," Amelia said after cleaning her monocle upon emerging from the fire in M's sitting room. "Bloody ash. Wexford was a vicious bastard and we are well rid of him. Tell me, how did Bond accomplish this? My people said it looked like Fiendfyre, but I don't think he is a wizard."

"He does think that he has a magic wand," Olivia replied, "but no, not a wizard. A troglodyte when it comes to women, but pure Muggle. He shot Wexford from extreme range with an incendiary round. I'm sure you remember those from our tour. They burn at several thousand degrees. This is another product of my own sort of wizards. Apparently that distracted his companions long enough for your people to arrive and clean things up nicely. Not sporting, perhaps, but Special Section does not deal in half-measures. I believe Commander Bond shared a drink with your man Moody at the local afterwards."

"They do make a pair, appearances notwithstanding," Amelia said.

"Cut from the same bolt, I agree. I suppose their bond is much like ours." She handed her friend a glass of scotch. "Friends," she said, raising her glass, "they enable our tenuous hold on sanity in the dark times."

"Friends," echoed Amelia. "What has the magnificent Babette prepared for us tonight?"

"A dish of her own creation, featuring scallops."

"Tell me, is she seeing anyone?" Amelia asked casually.

"Not that I am aware of. However, she did prove immune to Commander Bond's charms," Olivia told her. "She catered a dinner for me at the office. 007 was quite taken with her, but he never even got a smile out of her."

"A discerning woman, as well as a sublime chef. She is a pearl beyond price."

"I also gave her free reign on the wine. I admit to a certain level of expectation regarding that."

"Indeed. These evenings are a positive tonic for me, Olivia. Ambrosial food and splendid companionship have a magic all their own."

"Indeed they do. Let us hope that our colleagues allow us this evening undisturbed. Come, Babette is expecting us."

XXXXXX

"Magnificent meal, Babette, even by your standards," Amelia told her.

"Merci, madame."

"I cannot convince you to call me Amelia?"

"Forgive me, but that would not be proper, I think. I know very little of the work that you and my employer do, madame, but I know that it is important and very dangerous. My form of address is my way of showing respect. It cannot be easy for either of you."

"Thank you, Babette, I very much appreciate that. I hope, however, that you do not mind that I consider you a friend as well as a marvellous chef." Babette smiled.

"I am honoured, madame. More wine?"

"Please."

"The wine is exceptional, Babette," Olivia said, "I shall have to increase your salary since you are now serving as sommelier as well as chef. Perhaps that will also make it more difficult for Amelia to steal you from me."

"You can't blame a girl for trying, but really, my kitchen is simply not up to her standard."

Privately, Olivia did not think that the state of Amelia's kitchen had ever occurred to either of them.

Babette poured and returned to her kitchen.

"Things are getting worse, aren't they, Amelia?"

"Much. Frankly, the Minister is right out of his depth. He simply refuses to acknowledge that You-Know-Who is back. The man has the worst case of 'ostrich syndrome' I've ever seen."

"What can I do to help?"

"The same thing you've been doing, Olivia. Thanks to your help we've been able to keep a bit of a lid on things, and we've saved a few lives. But I have a strong feeling that things are about to escalate. The recent disappearances are most troubling. My people are being targeted specifically, and the Death Eaters are growing bolder."

"How is your man Moody? Has he lost any further body parts?"

"Hah! Not yet, at any rate. People no longer think he's crazy for seeing enemies around every corner, though. Like as not, they are there. How fares Commander Bond?"

"007 remains his incorrigible self, maddening, primitive, sexist, and effective. The bugger had the cheek to break into my home. He's not even supposed to know where I live, but I found him sitting by the fire one evening."

"What do you suppose he was about? Rifling through your unmentionables?"

"Hardly. I suppose he did it just to show me it could be done. Gave me a bit of a turn, I can tell you. Babette did not find him remotely amusing, but he did know the code phrase so she did not trip the alarm. However, she did not offer him any refreshments, either."

"I can put some magical protections in place. I'm ashamed I didn't think of it sooner. Actually, I'll do it straight away. If the Death Eaters ever realize how you're helping us they will no doubt want to eliminate you. They still don't know what really happened to Wexford. There was much finger-pointing in their ranks after that and I believe a few of them were killed as suspected traitors. That was a gift that kept on giving."

"I'm glad to hear it, and I appreciate your concern, as well as your help. Do whatever you think best, Amelia, you have my complete trust. But enough of shop talk for the evening, I think Babette has a new pudding for us..."

XXXXXX

"Things have taken a decided turn for the worse, Olivia," Amelia said by way of greeting as she emerged from the fireplace in M's home. "Several Death Eaters, among the worst of the lot, have escaped from Azkaban Prison. The only glimmer of 'good' news in this is that it is no longer at all possible for the Minister to deny that You-Know-Who has returned. Indeed, he has now seen him with his own eyes. Fudge is sure to be sacked. Frankly, my people are pressed to the limit. Oh, and Moody and your man Bond seem to have hit it off and are cooperating nicely."

"Perhaps Moody can convince 007 that women are more than a place for him to put it, and Bond can help Moody get a date," Olivia said with a smile that faded as quickly as it had appeared. "There are rumblings throughout the intelligence community as well. I have all of our operatives in the field under the vaguest possible instructions, as I am still unwilling to bring anyone else in on things, although the PM has been in touch. Thus far we've been able to pass off the murders as the work of 'conventional' terrorists, but things are indeed coming to a head, I fear."

"Quite. I don't have time to join you for dinner, Olivia, but I'm going to regardless, if you'll indulge me. It is easier to 'screw your courage to the sticking place' on a full stomach."

"You know the bard?"

"Of course. Actually, he was one of our sort," Amelia told her.

"I suppose that explains 'Puck'."

"I rather expect so, yes. Merlin, what a week this has been. But I must say that your company is most reassuring. With you I know that I'm not alone in this."

Olivia wrapped her arms around her friend and held her close.

"So long as I draw breath, my dearest friend, you shall never be alone. Selfishly, I almost think it was worth all of this to have you in my life."

Amelia squeezed her tightly.

"You do have a way with words, Olivia. I couldn't have said it half so well, but also selfishly, I agree."

"Now then, no more business until after pudding. As tonight's menu was my option, I have selected Wellington, made with Kobe beef. Babette promises that the wine will be something beyond our experience. I believe her," Olivia said with a smile, "I've just seen the invoice..."

"I'll pay my share," Amelia offered.

"No need. I can expense this," Olivia said with a smile.

The exquisite Babette poured a small amount of wine and handed it to her guest. Amelia took a moment to savour the bouquet and then rolled a small sip around her tongue.

"Astounding, absolutely astounding. Babette, I am your slave," Amelia declared.

"Vraiment? Très intéressant... " Babette replied with a smile.

Amelia blushed.

Olivia coughed conspicuously.

Babette smiled again as she poured the wine, then she returned to the kitchen.

"Best of luck, Amelia," Olivia said as she raised her glass.

The exceptional wine made fair progress in dissolving the day's frustrations for Amelia.

Amelia now felt as content and happy here as she did in her own home, perhaps more so. When she was here she was always with friends.

Olivia usually knew her thoughts and feelings without either of them having to say a word. Babette anticipated her every need. It even began to appear that Babette was prepared to _meet_ her every need.

But things happen in this business.

XXXXXX

"Impossible, absolutely impossible," Amelia said as she cut her second helping of Wellington with her fork. "Food like this does not exist, nor does wine. I shall explode and die."

"We all have to go sometime, and there are worse ways."

"Most of them, in fact, Olivia. Really, this has done me more good than a full night's sleep, which neither of us is likely to get in any event."

"We have not yet had pudding. Do recall the rules, Amelia."

"I beg your pardon, it would indeed be an obscene act to so profane this meal. Damn!"

Amelia opened the locket she was wearing and peered at it closely; her face clouded as she did so.

"Bastards! I'm sorry, Olivia dear, but I must leave at once. Thankfully this mess is at present confined to our side, but a warning to your people would not go amiss."

"You know how to reach me, Amelia."

"Please give my profound compliments to Babette. I believe that missing her pudding tonight will rank among my deepest regrets."

Amelia ran for the sitting room Floo, and Olivia filled her glass.

"Good fortune, my friend," she whispered as she held her wine aloft.

XXXXXX

"Visitor from the ministry coming, Director," Sir Reginald blurted.

Olivia took a deep breath of relief, as she had not heard from Amelia since the truncated dinner. But the breath caught in her throat when she saw her guest.

"Director, I am -"

"Alastor Moody..."

"Yes. I suppose I'm rather easy to recognize. I'm sorry, Director, but I've come to inform you that Madam Bones is-"

"Dead."

Moody nodded and shifted awkwardly.

Olivia felt the world shift. The one person she had known who had truly understood what it was to be her, was gone. She could not bring herself to be surprised at this, as the risks were well known to them both. She was, however, surprised at the size of the hole in her chest that this news occasioned.

She recalled Amelia's amaze at the things Q had showed her. She recalled the many pleasant evenings they had shared, silently communing over smoking glasses of whiskey. She recalled her own astonishment at the things Amelia had shown her of the magical world, the childlike wonder that that she had felt at Chocolate Frogs, and talking portraits, and moving staircases, and fantastic beings. She recalled the growing closeness between Amelia and Babette, and her heart wrenched at the thought of delivering this news. She recalled the plot of anthuriums that Amelia had so carefully tended, and the time they had spent together there honouring the fallen.

She recalled her friend, in short.

And then she recalled just who and what she was, and her face went cold and blank.

"How did it happen?"

"She was attacked in her home, and we're still trying to sort out how they found her. I can tell you that she fought fiercely, and the evidence indicates that You-Know-Who himself was obliged to intervene. Amelia was an extremely skilled and powerful witch; they are bound to have paid a high price for her life."

"Not high enough."

"No, not high enough. She was worth more than the lot of them by a mile. I apologize for coming almost completely unannounced, but Madam Bones charged me with this duty herself. I have a letter for you from her, prepared against this eventuality." Moody cleared his throat. "She was a person I very much admired, as well as my superior, and I can tell you that your friendship meant a great deal to her, Director. She spoke most highly of you to me."

"Olivia, please. Thank you, Auror Moody, she was a singular woman."

"Alastor, please, and she was an exceptional _human_, although perhaps not quite singular. You put me in mind of her, the things she told me about you. I'm glad that she had you for a friend. Real friends are hard to come by."

"Yes, they are, especially in our line of work."

Moody nodded and handed her an envelope.

"I also have something for you from me. Something I'm not supposed to give you, I expect." He produced a folder from inside his cloak. "From what I've been able to piece together, the people in this folder were directly involved in the attack on her. Some of them are hopefully already dead, but I expect not all of them. It's everything we have on them, likely locations, known associates, pictures, the lot."

"Thank you, Alastor."

"The Ministry is in chaos. I have no idea how things will shake out, so I have also included a list of people I am sure that you can trust. It is regrettably short," Moody apologized.

"Such lists always are. I thank you again. Amelia trusted you. I am sure that I can as well."

Moody inclined his head in acknowledgement.

"I don't suppose I'll see you again, Olivia. I'm on special assignment; not supposed to be here now, truth to tell. But she asked me to come, so I'm here." He scrubbed his sleeve across his face. "Shit. One never gets used to this sort of thing."

"One never really does, no."

"I'd best be off, fires to put out all over the place. Best of luck to you."

"To you as well."

Moody turned to the fireplace, took a step towards it, and stopped short, turning back to her.

"Oh. About your man, Bond."

"What about him?"

"Scary piece of work. Serious." Moody pointed at the folder he had given her.

"Were it up to me, I'd turn the bugger loose on those bastards," he said gruffly, and then he was gone.

Olivia Mansfield, "M", sat at her desk and carefully went through the information Moody had supplied her. Her face was a stone mask of concentration. The tears would come, as would the grief, but she would save the tears, the grief, and the letter from her dead friend for later, because just now she had business to attend to.

She keyed the intercom.

"Yes, Director," Moneypenny responded at once.

"Call 007 and tell him I said to drop whoever he's doing and get his arse in here. I have some work for him."

XXXXXX

Olivia sat at her accustomed spot at the table, and Babette removed the cover from breakfast.

"Beef Wellington? For breakfast, Babette?"

"It is for her," Babette whispered as the tears streamed down her face.

Olivia said nothing, but rose and guided Babette into her own chair at the table. She served Babette a generous portion of Wellington and poured her a glass of port. She then got another plate from the sideboard and similarly served herself.

"Eat," she encouraged Babette, "you know she would hate to see this go unappreciated."

XXXXXX

"Go straight in, 007," Moneypenny said as Bond approached the door to M's office.

"I always do, Penny," he replied with the special smile he reserved for her. Bond preferred to think of her as 'the one not yet caught' rather than 'the one who got away'.

He had, however, given up on Babette. She was too handy with knives by half.

"That last lot is sorted," Bond announced. "Who's next?" He took a seat across from M.

"I have been informed by my new opposite number that this Voldemort character is in truth dead this time," M informed him as she set two squat crystal tumblers on her desk. "If our assistance is needed for the mopping up, he will let us know. He seems a reasonable sort. Meanwhile, I think a small celebration is in order."

Olivia Mansfield produced a dusty bottle and poured. She slid a glass across her desk.

"This stuff is smoking, M."

"Yes. I have several cases of this from her. I think you'll like it."

He had no need at all to ask who "her" was.

He took a cautious sip.

"Bloody marvellous," he pronounced.

"Yes, she was." M raised her glass, drained it, and poured more for both of them.

"I'm sorry about your friend. By all I've heard she was an exceptional human being," Bond said quietly.

"Thank you. She was indeed, but I'm surprised that you did not qualify that by saying that she was an exceptional 'woman'".

Bond shrugged.

"It's not what's between your legs that matters, it's what's between your ears and behind your breastplate. Moody taught me that. He was exceptional too, but he's just as dead as Madam Bones is."

"Alastor Moody," M said, once again raising her glass.

"Amelia Bones," Bond offered in return.

"You know, James, in the end I think it will just be you and me here."

He nodded.

"The last of a dying breed, Olivia."

"No," she said with a cold smile remarkably like his own as she slid a folder across her desk to him.

He looked at her expectantly.

"The last of a _killing_ breed, 007."


End file.
